


Weight of a Feather

by VarjoRuusu



Series: Heart of Gold [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Dark, Death, It just takes a lot of tragedy to get there, M/M, Magic, Movie References, Multiple Major Character Deaths, Murder, Soulmates, Suicide, but it has a happy ending, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: Down the line each man's heart began to shine through his chest, pure, sparkling gold that made the jewels that adorned the men and women watching the ceremony seem pale and dull.Through the centuries an ancient magic brings them together again and again, but it is never right. There is never enough time. They are never complete. Could this be the time? Could they finally be together?





	Weight of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> This is a surrounding prequel/continuation of Heart of Gold, a mini angsty oneshot I did a while back. 
> 
> This is predominantly a very painful and unhappy story, so unless you're serious and want to get to the happy fluffy end, I suggest you turn away now.
> 
> I don't expect to get a lot of traffic on this, that's fine. I wrote this mostly for myself, I needed to bleed off some angst in my own life and I debated posting it but...anyway, here you are. Have this tragic nonsense and if you do read it, please leave me a comment, I do appreciate them. :) 
> 
> I will not be cross posting this to tumblr.

They stood side by side under the Memphis sun, the air heavy with smoke and power as the chanting rose to a crescendo. In front of them a line of priests spoke words that were already ancient, summoning a power beyond any ordinary man, a power that curled around the sacred orb, swirling and dipping as it blazed even brighter than the midday Aten.

“If he be pure of heart, step forward,” the High Priest spoke directly to them now and one by one, from right to left, each man stepped forward and bowed his head. A mark was drawn on his head with a brush dipped in a special potion, and he was handed a feather before he stepped back in line. Together, they spoke as one.

“Ma'at, mistress of truth and justice, Hathor, mistress of life and land, Isis, mistress of the stars, Sekhmet, mistress of warriors, Ra, master of the sun, Anubis, master of the underworld, we call on you to judge us now. If we be worthy, or if we be unworthy, let it be known,” they chanted and one by one, they began to glow.

Down the line each man's heart began to shine through his chest, pure, sparkling gold that made the jewels that adorned the men and women watching the ceremony seem pale and dull. Each, one after another held his feather over his chest after he began to glow, until the last. His heart was tainted, line of black running through it, curving along his arms and up his head into his eyes.

The High Priest pointed a single finger and guards surrounded the man and dragged him away. He didn't make a sound.

Every man who glowed gold stepped back, their places taken by a line of women, and the ceremony was repeated. Every woman passed her test and together they stood, a combined line, equal, powerful, pure.

“You have proven yourselves in the eyes of the gods,” the High Priest called, his voice carrying over the large and silent crowd. “Each and every one of you has completed every task set before them, overcome every obstacle to stand here today, and your hearts have been judged pure. You came as men and women. You leave as Madjai.”

 

\- - -

 

“This is madness,” the one they called Quicksilver shouted, even as he shot an arrow over his head, hitting his mark even though he hadn't even looked where he shot. “We will not survive this!”

“Do not stop fighting,” another man, called Fox by his brothers, shouted, never faltering in his attack. “We cannot let them take the capital.”

“Madness,” a dark-eyed woman snarled at his left side. “We'll all be meat for vultures before this is over. I don't know your heart, but my _ka_ does not want to die like this.”

“We will not die,” Fox swore, even as Silver's back pressed to his, his quiver rapidly emptying in the corner of Fox's vision. “He will come.”

“You put a great deal of faith for a man who betrayed our brotherhood,” Silver snarled.

“He did not betray, he is a spy, and he will bring an army to reign down on these devils,” Fox spat.

“And only you knew of this?” the woman hissed, killing two men with quick slashes of her knives.

“No,” Silver growled. “He only knows because they are lovers. You've endangered us all with your heart, iwiw.”

Fox bristled, but didn't have time to respond as ten men descended on them and they were lost in the chaos of the fight. He didn't have time to think, he didn't have time to feel, and when the dust finally settled, and he looked around, he felt his heart nearly stop.

The woman, who had given up her name when she joined the brotherhood, lay a short ways away, her eyes wide in death, a sword still embedded in her chest. Her knife was in the throat of the man who had done it.

Closer to him, Quicksilver coughed quietly, a wet sickly sound, four arrows buried in his side, blood already tinging his lips. It was only then that Fox looked down at himself and saw three more arrows. He hadn't felt a thing, didn't feel a thing even as he sank to his knees. He looked up, meeting Silver's eyes even as the light in them dimmed, distantly aware of horns blowing just over the hill and the sound of horses and chariots drawing closer.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered as Silver's eyes closed. “May you rest forever in the field of reeds.”

The world around him was growing dim as the noises of horse and wheel drew nearer, then there were hands on him, lifting him, but it was too late. He'd come too late, and now Fox couldn't even open his eyes to gaze on his beloved Sun one more time. All he could do was let darkness and Anubis take him.

 

\- - -

 

“Do you ever have dreams of someplace else?” Agryos asked, staring across the small space between their cots. The boy across from him frowned, running a hand through his hair.

Pyro, like all the other boys who lived in the small home in Athens, was named for a defining feature. For him, it was his red hair. For Agryos it was his hair as well, only it was Silver, the colour of starlight. On the other side of Agryos another boy stirred, the last of their group and named Sitos for the wheat colour of his hair. The boys older than them were named for their stature, the boys younger, the colour of their eyes.

“Like where?” Pyro asked, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

“Like a desert,” Agryos sighed. “A great city in a desert and an army of dark beings springing from the ground...”

“No,” Pyro snapped, but they knew he lied. Sitos stared at the roof beams with almost dead eyes as he spoke softly.

“I was too late. I was too late to save you, to save any of you. By the time I marched the army all the way from Alexandria...it was too late,” he muttered and Pyro turned away. He didn't want to admit that he remembered.

“Why are we here again?” Agryos asked softly and Sitos sighed, as if shaking loose from a trance at the sound of Agryos' shaking voice. Quietly he stood, slid across the floor until he could slip into the other boy's bed and hold the younger one to his chest, smoothing his hair as he sobbed silently.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, meeting Pyro's eyes in the dim light that filtered in through the slats of the window. Pyro held his eyes for a long moment then he sighed, somehow deflating.

He rose and carefully lifted his bed and scooted it closer, making as little noise as possible until he could push them together and crawl under the covers, wrapping his arms around the other two, holding Agryos between them as the memories faded and they quietly clung to each other, three orphans who had no one else in the world.

 

\- - -

 

Pyro was the first to fall, a howl like a demon ripping from Agryos as he saw the other man sinking to the ground, blood pouring from a deep wound in his neck. Even from a distance he knew it was over, there was nothing that could stop Hades from taking Pyro now.

Men around him shrank back as he charged them, every hard line of muscle in his body tense as he swung his sword and hammer again and again, bringing men down as he fought his way to Pyro. They shrank, and then they ran, fleeing before the rage in Agryos' eyes, his unnatural silver hair streaming around him like a thing raised from the depths of Tartarus.

By the time he carried Pyro off the field, the battle was over, was won, but Agryos didn't care. He laid his friend carefully at the foot of steps that led to the temple of Athena, so numb he was unable to even shed a tear. He glanced to the side and saw, further up the stairs, eyes closed and hands folded peacefully across his chest as if he were sleeping, Sitos lay unmoving.

Agryos stared at him for a long them, then looked back down at Pyro. Without a sound he drew his dagger from his belt and slashed into his own wrists, closing his eyes as his blood washed out of him and he slowly sank until he was laying against Pyro, the world growing dim around him.

 

\- - -

 

“Fuck this!”

“Stop using those Germanic words, it's barbaric,” the man at the head of the table sighed, shoving his crown off his head and pushing a hand through his short blonde hair.

“Fuck you,” the other growled, his blue eyes sparking. His dark curly hair was tied back and his whole body was shaking as he gripped the table hard. They were the only two in the room, all the servants and guards dismissed, leaving them completely alone for the first time in years, without an ear to overhear them. Even in their bedroom there were ears listening.

“I want to find it him too, damn all the gods, but there's been no sign,” the blond man sighed. “I can only do so much.”

“Marcus, you're the emperor of all Rome.”

“Lucius,” Marcus sighed. “He's not here, what more do you want me to do?”

“You don't understand,” Lucius said, turning his face away. “You were already gone. You didn't...you didn't see him fall, you didn't carry him from battle, you didn't...”

“Lucius?” Marcus prompted when Lucius was silent for a long time.

“You didn't open your wrists on the steps of Athena's temple,” Lucius said softly and Marcus sucked in a breath.

“Fool,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What would you have done if you'd been condemned to Tartarus?”

Lucius scoffed, raising his eyes to meet Marcus'.

“I think we've already long proved we're far more damned than that,” he said softly, and Marcus had no words.

 

\- - -

 

Half a world away, high to the north of Roman Britannia a man with red hair tugged in a fishing net, smiling as the labour of hauling so much weight made his muscles burned. He'd had another dream again, woken in the night to his sister's frightened eyes and equally red hair hovering over him. When he'd woken for a moment he'd seen a nameless woman on a battlefield, falling to knife like a shadow, then he blinked and she'd been his sister again.

The dreams were becoming more frequent, coming almost every night now. Always the same, old places lost to history, two men he recognized but couldn't place, memories as hazy as wisps of smoke, and a constant and growing feeling that somehow he was lost. That this was not where he was supposed to be.

His sister didn't know, didn't understand. She didn't remember even though she'd been there in the beginning. She'd been part of their brotherhood, fought side by side, died side by side, but she was spared the curse of remembering. He thanked the gods for it every day, even if it made it harder not being able to tell her what was wrong.

He held out another week then he packed a bag, left her all the money they had, and left. He didn't expect he'd ever return, but she was to be married in the spring to a farmer a few minutes ride away. She would be taken care of.

He traveled, letting his heart pull him south, so far south that he thought he might fall off the end of the world. When he entered Rome in the back of a hay cart, it was like he could feel a tugging, leading him to the palace. No one spoke his language, no one so much as looked at him twice, except the guards, who glared at him as he stared up at the massive building.

He stood there for hours, waiting, for what he didn't know. The guards watched him, but he didn't move, and neither did they. Finally, a tingle passed through him as the sun set and the sound of voices carried out through the main gate.

A young man in a white tunic came storming from the gate, his hair coming loose from it's tie and flying wildly around his face, his shouts never stopping until he turned. Then he froze, blue eyes wide, everything else forgotten. He stepped forward, cautiously, and the red headed fisher man matched his steps until they were standing close. The dark haired man said something, only to have the other shake his head.

“I don't understand,” he said quietly in his own language and blue eyes widened.

“You came,” the other man whispered, this time in the same language.

“I came. But I don't know why.”

“Come with me,” the dark haired man said. “I'm Lucius.”

“Rufus,” the red head said, smiling when the other man, Lucius, raised his eyebrows. “My grandmother was Roman, but I never learned her language,” he explained and Lucius nodded.

“Come, he wants to meet you. We've been looking for you for years.”

Nervously Rufus followed the other man into the palace, the guards never moving. He was surprised when they went straight to the throne room, obvious in its opulence, which was empty save for one person.

“Marcus,” Lucius said quietly after he'd pushed the doors closed behind them.

The man on the throne looked up, eyes wide as he lurched, half standing, his hands gripping the arms so hard his knuckles were white.

Rufus took a single step forward and then they were nearly running, crossing the distance until they were embracing tightly, clutching one another like their lives depended on it. Marcus pulled back only enough to cover Rufus' mouth with his own, drawing a gasp from the other man as he clawed at Marcus trying to drag him closer. Moments later Lucius' arms slid around him, holding him tightly and Rufus sighed, feeling like he belonged for the first time in his life.

Thirty years they spent in relative peace and happiness, they spent it together, no wars threatened them, no dark magic swooped down on him. In turn they each slipped into the abyss in their sleep, a few months apart, and it began again.

 

\- - -

 

“No,” he said quietly, staring at the man in the bed, his target. The mess of black curls was unmistakeable and suddenly everything he thought he'd forgotten as a boy came slamming back. Battlefields, death, magic, that damned orb. A man with Silver arrows, a man with Silver hair, a man with a Silver tongue. The centuries had changed him, but he was still the same.

A moment later blue eyes blinked open, searching the dark until they landed on La Volpe Nera, half in the shadows behind the curtains. He sat up slowly, not even reaching for his dagger.

“So, that's to be the way of it this time,” he said quietly, his voice like music to the other man's ears. “You're here to kill me?”

La Volpe Nera never failed when he took a contract. His assassinations were quick, clean, quiet. He was the best of the brotherhood, after the Mentor, he was better even than the Shadow. But this...how could he do this?

“You remember?” he asked softly, his voice barely carrying as a whisper on the breeze that rustled the curtains.

The dark haired man nodded. “More lives than I can count, but most of all I remember the blood. So much blood, so much death, it follows us like the spectre of a god in the night.”

“Your hands are unclean, you're a templar,” he accused, stepping out of the shadow and into the moonlight.

“You know it's so much more complicated than that,” the dark haired man sighed, the covers scrunching in his lap as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Where is he?”

“L'ombra,” was all he said and the other nodded.

“Two to one then. The Shadow, The Black Fox, and me. I suppose you might as well finish it,” he said softly, holding his arms out.

“Why are you...have you no wish to live?” La Volpe Nera asked, stepping forward once more. It was like there were stars winking in those blue eyes as they looked up at him sadly.

“What life is there without you?” he asked and the other man shivered, the words tearing through him.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, leaning closer. One hand reached tentatively for a stray curl of dark hair, blue eyes drifting closed as his fingers brushed skin and he couldn't resist any longer. He leaned down and caught those pale red lips with his, licking softly as they kissed deeply, passions stirring in both of them quickly until they lay pressed together, hands holding one another tightly.

“Make it quick,” the blue eyes man whispered and La Volpe nodded.

There were tears as they lay together, making love slowly in the moonlight, whispering promises to meet again, to try again, to keep searching, keep fighting for their happiness. After the other had drifted off to sleep, sated and quiet, La Volpe's dagger slid quickly into his heart, stopping it instantly, tears dropping into dark curls as the sun began to rise.

 

\- - -

 

The sun was burning, the wind strong, and still he kept walking. They'd been boys together in Constantinople, then plague had come and taken them away. He'd survived, he'd gone and joined the brotherhood that had killed him last time, never again wishing to associate with the Templars. He found the orb and thrown it in the sea, then he'd come to Arabia and lived alone as a hermit.

He was haunted by the emptiness, the lives he remembered, the loss, the pain, how each of them would fall before his eyes over and over, leaving him all alone. His hair was Silver again, his eyes pale. Men who met him wondered if he was blind, but in truth he had never seen so much.

 

\- - -

 

It was a moment of clarity like no other as Thomas' eyes dropped to his lips and James remembered everything. A wave of relief crashed over him and threatened to engulf him. He knew Thomas could see it on his face because he smiled, just a hint, and closed the last distance between them. At the last second, James tilted his head up, welcoming the soft kiss and sighing deeply as peace enshrouded him.

“You remember,” Thomas whispered softly, neither noticing Miranda leaving the room with a gentle smile.

“All of it,” James said, suddenly nearly sobbing as sadness washed over him. “He's not here,” he whispered and Thomas held him close.

They went to Thomas' room, the halls devoid of servants, and sank to the bed together, holding each other as the new memories settled, until finally, they began to touch each other with intent. It was slow, quiet, and then it happened.

Thomas had pulled James' shirt over his head and lay a hand on his chest when he began to glow, the outline of his heart shining through.

“What is this?” James asked quietly and Thomas bit his lip.

“Maybe...maybe this is it...maybe we've come full circle. He must be here, somewhere...” Thomas whispered and James laughed, pulling Thomas forward into a kiss that stole the breath from both of them.

Two years passed, then they were ripped apart, ten more years passed and on the deck of a ship, in the middle of the ocean, James' heart stopped when those blue eyes met his.

 

\- - -

 

Flint stirred, hearing a board creak as he cracked his eyes open, hand already reaching for a pistol in the darkness. He glanced toward the door and in the dull light of the half full moon, he made out Silver's silhouette.

He was leaning against the door, his shoulders hunched, his hair falling forward around his face. He was shirtless, wearing only his breeches, and he stepped forward slowly as Flint sat up. As he drew closer, Flint could see that he was crying.

“Silver?” he asked softly, feeling as if a spell had been cast over the room.

Silver stopped at the edge of the bed, staring down at him with wide, tear filled eyes, his chest heaving. He reached forward, fingers brushing against the opening of Flint's shirt, pushing it aside as he knelt with one knee on the edge of the bed.

Flint knew what he was looking for and he sat up slowly, reaching out hesitantly, his hand hovering over Silver's bare skin, just over his heart, scant millimeters away, waiting. Silver's hand touched his chest, just over his heart, a sob ripping from him when nothing happened. He slumped forward, his other hand clutching around Flint's as it touched his own chest, a rush of heat burning under Flint's palm as Silver's heart glowed through his chest, a shining light that put the purest gold to shame.

“Why...” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why can't...why aren't I enough? You're mine,” he sobbed, his breath catching. “Why can't I be yours? Why can't I be enough for you?”

Flint closed his eyes, fighting back tears, his mind filled with image of the day Thomas had first touched him, how his own chest had glowed so brightly he was blinded, blinking his eyes clear only to find Thomas staring at him in wonder, his fingers brushing against the outline of his glowing heart.

“John,” Flint said softly, sitting up, his hand still pressed against Silver's chest, Silver's hand clutched around his own like a lifeline as he sobbed. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does matter,” Silver cried. “I'm never enough, not for anyone.”

“You are, you are enough and it doesn't matter if some predestined shit doesn't think so, I love you, with my entire being,” Flint said, his other hand coming up to cup Silver's face, tilting his chin up until he could meet those sad blue eyes, red and puffy from his tears, shining like a ghostly apparition in the moonlight.

“It's not meant,” Silver began, only to be cut off by Flint's growl.

“Fuck what's meant,” he said as he pulled Silver forward, sliding their lips together and kissing him with everything he had.

Silver sobbed against Flint's mouth, barely responding as Flint tilted his head, kissing him softly until he quieted, slowly falling into the kiss, his lips moving against Flint's as his breath quieted. He moaned when Flint's tongue licked along his lips softly and Flint smiled against him.

“I love you,” he pulled away long enough to whisper, the words liberating to his soul as Silver shuddered under his hands, leaning forward to continue the kiss.

They stayed like that for long minutes, kissing slowly, not needing anything else but to be close, to touch. Flint's hand slid up to cup the other side of Silver's face, fingers carding through his hair carefully and tangling at the base of his skull, pulling him a little closer, deepening the kiss with tongues and teeth, nipping and soothing, sucking until his lips were red and swollen and he was panting, pulling back to rest his forehead against Flint's, shoulders still shaking.

“It's not enough,” he whispered and Flint shook his head, pressing a kiss to Silver's hair as he pulled him onto the bed, tangling their legs together as he ran a soothing hand along Silver's back.

Silver's arms curled around him, head resting on Flint's shoulder, silent tears once more flowing as he held on tightly

“We'll make it enough,” Flint swore against his hair. “I promise, we'll make it enough. You're everything to me, never doubt that.”

“I love you so much,” Silver whispered softly and Flint smiled, tilting his chin to give him one last kiss before they settled into the blankets and Silver drifted off to sleep.

“We'll make it enough,” Flint said again softly, staring out the window at the moon, setting slowly into the sea. “I promise.”

 

\- - -

 

“ _He's alive.”_

Those words nearly broke James' spirit. It was at the breaking point anyway, months later, when Silver still didn't remember. He knew, he knew there was something different, but he didn't remember. James had let him close, had loved him so deeply, hoped that each time they lay together, hoped that when he told him about Thomas, it would break the dam and Silver would remember. But he never did.

They left the war behind, James going, Silver following because he had nowhere else to go, because James hadn't told him not to home. He hadn't said a word.

Breaking Thomas out was easy, going north was easy, settling in a small town in a small house on the sea was easy, but Silver, John, still didn't remember.

They talked long into the night, James and Thomas, curled around each other, wondering what they could do. John shied away from Thomas, wouldn't speak to him, wouldn't come near him, like he was scared.

Finally one night, at Thomas' suggestion, James took John's hand and led him into Thomas' room, his eyes begging him not to flee. John stood his ground as James stepped back and tugged his shirt over his head, ready to gamble everything, only hoping they were right.

“Don't you see?” James asked with a soft smile. John stared at him for a moment, then his eyes slid down to James' bare chest.

Slowly, James' hand reached for John, pushing the opening of his shirt aside and pressing a hand over his heart. John's chest began to glow, pulsing with each beat. James' other hand reached for his, lifting it to press across Thomas' heart, while Thomas reached for James. Skin met skin and they all glowed so bright it nearly hurt their eyes.

“You're mine, I'm his, he's yours. It's all connected, we are all each others, and nothing will ever change that,” James whispered.

John stood still for a long moment then he shuddered, a half laugh half sob escaping his throat as he threw himself forward into James' arms. Thomas' arms closed around them both and they held one another tightly.

“I remember,” John whispered softly.

They didn't know what changed, they didn't know why this time, why this life, after so many before. They didn't asked, they just thanked and they lived. They lived, and after almost ten years they began to notice that none of them were ageing, or at least, they were ageing very slowly.

A hundred years passed, two hundred, and they were happy, so happy. The world changed around them and they changed the world. They found their brothers, their sisters, all those who had come with them through the centuries. They brought peace, prosperity, and love to the world, they were hailed as kings though they lived as men, and each night they lay together, limbs tangled and hearts glowing like the sun, together and complete.

**Author's Note:**

> How many references can you catch?
> 
> Assassin's Creed Origins  
> The Mummy  
> Rome  
> Marcus Aurelius  
> Assassins Creed II/Brotherhood
> 
> I’m on Tumblr [Beneath The Black Sails](http://www.beneaththeblacksails.tumblr.com)


End file.
